At All Things I Rush
At my present in excusable age
I still crazily rage
In lien of acting The Sage:
Bold to open a wrong page
Upon receipt of a poor wage:
The Dry Look of one in a cage
And to my Boss “I’m twice your age!”
And at this far-gone age,
A few things I bother to gauge,
Little releasing to Image,
To one day end up in my village …
In short, at things I rush
And Concerned Advisers hush
Or their advice crush
Or watch their concern crash
And still mumble a line rash.
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